


Over the Edge of the Precipice

by SunflowerSupreme



Series: Witcher (Books) [26]
Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types, Wiedźmin | The Witcher Series - Andrzej Sapkowski
Genre: Bad BDSM Etiquette, Corporal Punishment, Drug Use, Gen, Non-Consensual Spanking, Prompted Work, Spanking, Whipping, Whumptober 2020, short chapters for DRAMA and PACING and ANGST
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-12
Updated: 2020-10-06
Packaged: 2021-03-06 17:22:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 5,507
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26432587
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SunflowerSupreme/pseuds/SunflowerSupreme
Summary: Geralt, usually so careful with his bard, pushes him just a bit too far after a terrifying encounter with a Leshen.Whumptober Day 26: If You Thought Head Trauma Was Bad...
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia & Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Series: Witcher (Books) [26]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1624276
Comments: 77
Kudos: 199





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> In [Aftercare](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26351701) Geralt mentioned accidentally taking things too far and injuring Dandelion.... 
> 
> Ya'll wanted it, so here you go. Two sad Bois having FEELINGS. 
> 
> It's a multi-chapter fic but many of the chapters are short for pacing purposes and DRAMA (Dandelion would approve).
> 
> \------------------
> 
> I’ve decided to use this for day 26 of Whumptober, since Geralt’s drugged state seems to fit in nicely with the prompt.
> 
> **No 26. IF YOU THOUGHT THE HEAD TRAUMA WAS BAD…  
>  Migraine | Concussion | Blindness**

**_Crack._ **

Dandelion whimpered and his shoulders shivered. If he could speak, Geralt imagined he’d be swearing up a storm. But since they were in an inn, Geralt had opted to gag him before taking his belt to him.

Rain lashed the window outside and Geralt ran a hand through his hair. The after effects of his potions were still coursing through his veins, leaving him jumpy and irritable. Ordinarily he’d have waited for it to wear off before making any rash decisions but Dandelion-

“Stupid bard.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I write Geralt as being very careful with Dandelion, making sure to never push him too far, checking in on him. But I figured that all had to come from somewhere. 
> 
> So this is earlier in their relationship, before Geralt really realized how much more delicate Dandelion is than, say, a Witcher.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case it’s not immediately clear, this chapter takes place before the last one, which was just meant to tease you.

Geralt grunted as the creature threw him through the air, landing hard against a tree. _Just a moment_ , he thought. _Give me a moment to get my thoughts in place_. The Leshen seemed to have lost track of him for the time being, which gave him a moment to ensure nothing was broken.

Or it would have, if not for the voice that rang out-

“Geralt?”

His blood chilled. Snapping upright he whirled to see a familiar blond head peering at him from across the clearing. The Leshen saw it too. 

“Shit!” cried Dandelion, realizing that the Leshen was now headed for him. Bright and colorful as he was, who could blame it for the interest? “Geralt! Help!”

“Run!”

The three of them tore through the woods, Dandelion shouting and stumbling as the monster - clearly playing with him, if it wanted him, it would have gotten him already - trailed after him. Geralt brought up the rear, hoping it would continue playing a while longer, giving him time to catch up and separate it from Dandelion.

A wolf howled in the distance. The Leshen was calling for backup.

His fingers fumbled at bag on his hip, grabbing the bottle of Blizzard and gulping it whole.

Within seconds, he knew he’d fucked up.

Geralt looked at the bottle in his hand. “Black blood,” he hissed, and threw it aside with a snarl. That particular toxin wouldn’t benefit him at all against a Leshen, but taking anything else would mean risking an overdose. 

“Help!” came Dandelion’s sob, followed a moment later by a wordless scream.

The Leshen roared.

Geralt swore, reached into his bag, made sure he had the right potion, and gulped half the bottle of Blizzard. Even if he’d overdosed, it would take at least five minutes for the toxins to kill him. He’d have to get the Leshen in that time.

The Witcher burst out of the trees to see the monster standing alone at the top of a drop off. There was no time to see how far the drop was, or to call to Dandelion, instead he threw his weight at the monster, driving his sword as deep into it as he could.

It jerked, wounded, but not dead, and Geralt jumped back out of the way. “If you can hear me, bard, run!” The Leshen advanced quickly, and Geralt swung his sword, catching one of its horns. Dazed, the creature screamed.

Geralt took off its head with one swing.

He stumbled back, panting, and held out his hand, casting Igni over the corpse for good measure.

Then he ran for the embankment. It wasn’t a sharp drop, but rather a short, steep slope. At the bottom, lay Dandelion, unmoving.

Geralt swore, stumbling down the stony embankment, grabbing Dandelion’s blue doublet. There was a horrible contrast between Dandelion’s brightness and the pale white of Geralt’s skin, with black veins running through it from the Black Blood he’d gulped. Poetic, Dandelion would call it. If he were still alive.

He rolled the bard over, grabbing for his neck, feeling for a pulse. His hands shook from the effort to be gentle, something decidedly at odds with the numerous potions flowing through his veins.

“Oh!” said Dandelion, peering up at him. “You took that horrid potion, didn’t you?”

Geralt’s knees dropped out from under him. “Dandelion,” he whispered. “You’re alive.” 

“I thought I’d play dead,” said the bard. “It worked didn’t it? You killed it.”

With a growl, Geralt shoved himself to his feet, stomping back up the ravine.

“What did you take the Black Blood for?” Dandelion was scrambling up the hill after him, ever curious. Reaching the top, he paused, dusting off his pants, and asked, “Do Leshens bite? I thought that was for-”

“Shut up!”

Dandelion froze.

Geralt whirled on him, grabbing the front of his doublet with shaking hands. “I told you to stay behind, bard!”

“I wanted to see the Leshen,” whined Dandelion. “I’ve never seen one Geralt-”

“Bard,” the Witcher snarled, baring his teeth. Anyone else would have been cowering or running in terror, but Dandelion only seemed mildly surprised. He had half a mind to spin Dandelion around and whip him right then and there, but he shook his head and dropped Dandelion’s collar. “Get back to the inn. NOW.”

“Oh, alright Geralt.”

How long had it been since he’d taken the potions? He felt ill, but not as bad as he’d expected. Perhaps he hadn’t overdosed after all?

“Geralt?” Dandelion was watching him, having realized Geralt hadn't followed after him. 

“Go.” His tone left no room for argument, even from Dandelion.

There was nothing left in the woods to hurt the bard. The fight had scared it all off, and - provided the potions didn’t kill him - Geralt would be just behind him. But on the off chance the potions were too much, he didn’t want Dandelion to have to see him convulsing in his death throes. Death by potion toxicity wasn't a peaceful way to go. 

Once Dandelion was out of sight he pulled another potion from his bag. It wasn’t a Witcher potion, but rather something he’d discovered that helped with the side effects. Within moments of swallowing it, he was on his knees, vomiting.

Then he stood, grabbed the Leshen’s head, the only thing that had survived the fire, and stomped into the woods.

He caught up with the bard before long, but ignored all of his attempts to socialize until he finally gave up. 

As they walked back in silence, it began to rain.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look I love me some self Book!Geralt…. but this is really great if you read it in Henry Cavil’s voice. Just saying. 
> 
> I love his growl.

_Time passed strangely under the effect of Witcher potions._

When they’d set out from the Leshen’s clearing it had been daylight, when they arrived back in the village it was dark and raining.

But to Geralt, it felt like only moments.

He dropped the mutated deer skull that made up the Leshen’s head on the alderman’s porch and then followed the bard back to the inn, trailing behind him up the stairs to their room. His body trembled and his mind raced, unable to get the image of Dandelion, laying motionless at the bottom of the ravine, out of his head. 

Geralt glanced down at his hands. The blackness was starting to fade from his veins, but he could still feel it coursing through his veins, amping him up. He rolled his neck and shook out his shoulders.

“Geralt,” said Dandelion, speaking for the first time as the door to their room swung shut behind the Witcher. He was damp from their walk, but not soaked, his hair only just starting to frizz.

“You,” Geralt growled, pointing his finger at Dandelion’s chest. “You nearly _died_.”

“It wasn’t my finest hour, Geralt, I will admit that.” Dandelion chuckled, sitting on the table and stretching his shoulders. “Alright, I’ll admit it, I was stupid.” He shrugged, as though it were all some great accident and not a near death experience, and started taking off his shoes. His jacket was already tossed on the table beside him, leaving him in only his chemise and pants.

Geralt turned his back, unable to look at his friend any longer. Tossing his swords off his back, he let them clatter against the wall. He rested his hands on the nightstand, taking several deep breaths. The potion was nearly gone, his vomiting in the woods had ensured that. Perhaps he was still a bit amped up, but his mind had cleared.

He was still livid.

“Dandelion,” he said tersely. “Come here.”

There was a soft thump as Dandelion jumped off the table, then his soft footsteps approached. A hand rested on the Witcher’s shoulder. “Geralt?”

He glanced down at the hand on his shoulder. _Fragile. Pale. Helpless_. His mind made up, Geralt turned sharply, catching the bard around the waist and pulling him across the room. “Geralt!”

Geralt sat on the edge of the bed with a grunt, pulling Dandelion over his knees. “You are the most immature man I’ve ever met, Dandelion, are you aware of that?” Before the bard could answer, he landed several heavy slaps on his ass. 

Dandelion let out a startled cry at the sudden movement, followed a moment later by a quiet yelp as Geralt’s hand landed on his ass. “Hey!” he hissed. “Geralt!”

"I don't whip you half as often as I ought, but I won't make that mistake again. So long as you insist upon acting like a petulant child, I'm more than willing to treat you as one." 

"Child!" squeaked Dandelion. "I'm nearly thirty, Geralt!" 

“Quiet!” Another heavy handed slap landed on his ass, then he pulled the bard’s trousers down, exposing his ass to the night air. Dandelion grumbled and wriggled his legs, freeing himself of the fabric, and kicking his pants across the room. 

The next strike rang through the small room with a loud crack, followed by a quiet whimper. “Geralt,” said Dandelion, attempting to crane himself so that he could face the Witcher. “Geralt, listen to me-”

“Dandelion, you almost died!” Geralt hissed. “You can talk later, all you want bard, but you won’t get out of this. Lie still and be good for once in your life!” 

“Oh alright, fine- OW!” Geralt had landed a stinging slap and caught him off guard.

“Keep your voice down,” Geralt snapped. He had no illusions what would happen if someone happened upon him spanking the bard. They’d assume he was keeping him against his will, refuse to let them explain, take Dandelion away, and possibly kill Geralt. No one would care to understand that Dandelion, despite his noisy protests, was more than willing to be over the Witcher's knee. 

“Geralt, I can’t,” Dandelion whimpered. “You’ll have to gag me.” He pointed to his pants. “There,” he said. “There’s a kerchief in my pocket.”

Geralt nodded. He helped Dandelion up, then the bard’s pants and located the fabric square. Dandelion opened his mouth obediently when he approached.

Little did he know, as he knotted the handkerchief behind Dandelion’s head, it would be the last time he ever did.


	4. Chapter 4

He pushed Dandelion over the edge of the bed, leaving his ass exposed. Geralt pulled off his belt as the bard wriggled about for a moment, settling down once he was comfortable.

Dandelion looked over his shoulder expectantly, waiting to be told the number of licks he was going to receive. “It’ll be a surprise,” Geralt told him, winding his belt around his hand. “Just like your presence.”

The bard snickered around the gag, seeming amused.

Geralt could only shake his head. Then he cracked his belt over Dandelion’s ass.

A muffled yelp escaped the gag, but Geralt had no doubt no one else had heard it. Some sort of party was going on downstairs, giving him more than enough cover to discipline the bard.

After the next strike, Dandelion attempted to cover his ass, but Geralt knocked his hands away. Seeming to get the hint, Dandelion crossed his arms on the bed and buried his face in them.

The Witcher stood still for a moment, studying his friend’s exposed ass. Already it was starting to turn pink.

 _Measure the strikes_ , he reminded himself above the pounding of his heart.

He closed his eyes for a moment, saw Dandelion lying motionless at the bottom of the ravine.

Swung the belt.

**_Crack._ **

_You’re not allowed to die, Dandelion_. 

* * *

**_Crack._ **

Dandelion whimpered and his shoulders shivered. If he could speak, Geralt imagined he’d be swearing up a storm.

**_Crack._ **

Rain lashed the window outside and Geralt ran a hand through his hair. The after effects of his potions were still coursing through his veins, leaving him jumpy and irritable. Ordinarily he’d have waited for it to wear off before making any rash decisions but Dandelion-

**_Crack._ **

“Stupid bard.”

 **_Crack._ ** ****

Dandelion didn't move. Didn't react to the strike.

**_Crack._ **

He was motionless. Just like he had been at the bottom of the ravine.

**_Crack._ **

Was he capable of staying out of trouble?

**_Crack._ **

Blood pounded in Geralt's ears.

**_Crack._ **

Panic. Fear. The Witcher closed his eyes for a moment.

**_Crack._ **

* * *

He studied Dandelion’s ass, red as an apple.

Was that enough?

Had he learned?

Geralt blinked and shook his head.

His belt slipped through his fingers, falling to the ground with a clatter.

His shoulder ached, meaning he must have pulled it fighting the Leshen, and further aggravated it by whipping Dandelion.

Odd, he couldn’t remember pulling it…. But he couldn’t have hurt it from the belting... could he have?

How long had it been?

He blinked at Dandelion. The bard was limp, having accepted his punishment finally. — Or had he accepted it several minutes ago?

Geralt stopped when Dandelion stopped struggling and whining, that was a sign he’d learned — so why did he feel as though he’d whipped the bard past that point?

No. He wouldn’t.

How long had it been?

“Dandelion?”

He glanced out the window.

The rain had stopped. The moon was high above them.

The bard was still silent.

Geralt’s stomach churned uneasily. “Dandelion,” he rested his hand on Dandelion’s back, well above his punished bottom, and a tremor ran through him. 

“Bard?”

He felt strange, as though he’d just stepped out of a cool bath. It was normal to feel that way once the toxins of his potions wore off, but they’d worn off long ago, before he’d whipped Dandelion.

….. Hadn’t they?


	5. Chapter 5

Uneasy, Geralt sat beside Dandelion on the bed, stroking his shoulder gently. “Here, bard,” he said softly. “Let’s get the gag off you.”

Perhaps he was just irritated. It wouldn’t be the first time Dandelion had decided to give Geralt the silent treatment. No need to tell the poet that sometimes that was just what Geralt wanted.

Not at the moment, but sometimes.

Geralt lifted the bard’s feet into bed, laying him on his side and stroking his hair. “Come on, Dandelion,” he grumbled, stepping away to grab a glass of water. “We should talk, set rules for you if you’re going to be following me about like a lost puppy.”

Nothing.

“Dandelion?”

But the bard didn’t move. Geralt paused, sitting down the glass of water he’d picked up, and walking back to the bed. “Dandelion, are you alright?”

Not a word, only the sound of Dandelion’s labored breathing filled the room.

Geralt crouched at the side of the bed, next to Dandelion’s head. “Hey,” he said softly, reaching out to stroke Dandelion’s curls. Sweat plastered them to his forehead, combined with his red face it gave him an almost sickly appearance. He stared at Geralt with dull eyes.

“Dandelion?”

The bard blinked. Then nodded. “H-hurts,” he whispered. “Geralt…”

It wasn’t normal. Geralt’s stomach churched uncomfortably. Dandelion ought to have been chattering, talking his ear off, or even attempting to seduce him as he had the other times Geralt had spanked him. He’d complain about the pain, whimper that he was hungry or thirsty, sob out apologies, and just generally demand attention.

The silent man on the bed was the complete opposite of that.

Geralt stood, walking back to the water and bringing it to Dandelion. He lifted him off the bed and held the glass to the bard’s lips with trembling fingers. Dandelion sipped a bit, then shook his head, turning away.

“You need to drink,” Geralt urged. Dandelion blinked, then slowly opened his mouth. Geralt gave him a bit more water, then finally sat it aside.

Deciding that the poet had was just giving him the silent treatment he stood and walked across the room, running his hand through his hair.

“I don’t enjoy this, Dandelion,” he said tersely. “Couldn’t you have stayed put? Sang at that party downstairs rather than follow me into the wood? I’d come back, told you about the Leshen- we could have sat by the fire and drank mulled cider and gossiped till dawn if it pleased you.”

Geralt shook his head and looked out the window, surprised to see that the moon had risen high in the sky.

He blinked.

It had been barely dusk when they’d arrived at the inn.

He could clearly remember Dandelion facing him, the window over his shoulder, the moon low in the sky. That had been when he’d grabbed the poet and flipped him over his lap.

His blood ran cold.

Geralt stumbled, lost his balance in his balance in his panic, and had to grab the windowsill to keep from falling. “Dandelion!” he cried in a panic.

He rushed back across the small room, dropping to his knees next to the poet. “Dandelion,” he whispered, stroking his hair. “What have I done?”

The bard barely responded, blinking groggily in the darkness, mumbling nonsense. He rolled the bard onto his stomach and immediately felt nauseous. From the small of Dandelion’s back to just above his knees the skin was flaming red. In a few places, the belt had left welts, angry, raised red lines.

The Witcher squeezed his eyes closed. “What have I done?” he whispered.

Dandelion let out a sniffle and Geralt turned to him sharply. “Dandelion?” he asked.

“Ger’lt?”

There’d be time to beg his forgiveness later. “If I bring you more water, will you drink it?” The poet’s shirt was soaked in sweat, and Geralt couldn’t imagine how much water he’d lost.

Dandelion nodded slowly.

There was a pitcher of water on the nightstand. Geralt filled the glass from before and then dug through his bags, finding something that would help with the pain, and mixing it in with the water before returning to the poet’s side. “Here,” he said, “this should help with the pain.”

He had to lift him up, holding his shoulders up off the bed so that he could drink. Dandelion barely made it through half before he started coughing, and Geralt sat it aside to rub his back. “Easy,” he murmured. “Breathe, Dandelion.”

“Geralt.”

“Yes?”

“I-” Dandelion blinked, seeming to have a hard time focusing on him. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be,” Geralt whispered. “You- oh Dandelion, you fool poet, I forgive you.” He knew he had to say it, as many times as Dandelion wanted, otherwise the poet would worry and stress, no matter that it was Geralt who should be groveling for forgiveness. 

Dandelion only nodded, closing his eyes, his head hanging against his chest. “I’m going to take off your shirt,” Geralt said. Any sudden or unexpected movements might frighten the bard, which was the last thing he wanted to do.

He was given another nod, and with that permission he slowly pulled the chemise off, sliding it over Dandelion’s head and setting it aside. The poet shivered in the night air until Geralt wrapped him in his cloak. “I’ll be back in a moment.”

Leaving Dandelion left him with a sick feeling, but he needed fresh water. He took the pitcher from their room down to the well behind the inn and filled it, then carried it back inside. The bard was right where he’d left him.

Fetching the rags from their bag that they used to bathe when all they could find was streams, he sat his supplies by the bed. The last thing he found was Dandelion’s chamomile oil that the bard usually used on his fingers to treat blisters. Hopefully, it would help with the swelling, if not, at least the bard liked the scent. “Dandelion?”

“Hm.”

“I’m going to uncover you.”

A whimper. “Please-”

“I need to wipe you down,” he said. “Then I’ll help you dress.”

“Geralt…”

First he gave Dandelion a bit more of the drugged water, helping him to sip it down, then slowly peeled the cloak off him. The bard shivered and whimpered, but said nothing. Geralt lifted him off the bed, holding him in his lap as he sat in a chair closer to the fire. Dandelion remained limp against him.

Slowly he dipped the rag in the water, having already mixed in the chamomile, and set to cleaning him off. He started with his shoulders, wiping the cloth over his skin slowly, lifting his arms to clean his underarms, and then rubbing it down to his hands.

“Geralt-”

“Shush, Dandelion. Try to rest.” 

The bard moaned as Geralt worked his way down his back, still avoiding the damaged skin. Then he set to work on the bard’s legs, supporting him with one hand around his back as he washed him, starting with his feet and working his way up.

It was strange to have hand on Dandelion’s groin and not get a playful comment, but the bard seemed to have fallen asleep. Geralt hoped he stayed that way.

There was nothing left to do but his wounds. Still, he dreaded it.

Geralt laid him on his stomach on the bed, then found a long sleeve shirt to ease him into, hoping it would prevent more shivering.

“This is going to hurt,” he said, more to himself than the bard.

When the damp rag touched Dandelion’s ass he let out a sob. “Stop! Geralt! I’m sorry, please-”

Geralt pulled back, then placed his hand on the bard’s shoulder. “Shhhh, it’s all right, Dandelion,” he said, stroking his hair.

The bard seemed more lucid than before, looking over his shoulder and moaning, “Geralt, I- you always say you’ll stop, if it’s too much….”

“I gagged you,” Geralt said. “Before. I went too far- Dandelion, this is all my fault-”

“Well, I- I’m clearly not gagged now, and I’m asking you to stop.” Frightened blue eyes stared at him. “ _Please_.”

His heart pounded. “I was trying to clean, you, Dandelion, the whipping is over.”

Dandelion tried to push himself up, only to collapse back into bed. “Oh, I see,” he said weakly.

“I- the skin is welting, at least let me put a salve on it,” the Witcher begged.

Dandelion considered for a moment, then nodded. “Oh. Oh, I think I would like that.”

Geralt’s hands shook as he dug through his bags, coming back a moment later with the salve. He was running low, he’d need to stock up on more soon. He’d been rationing it the last few times he’d been wounded, since coin had been tight until the Leshen contract.

Dandelion watched him wearily as Geralt sat on the bed beside him, dipping his fingers into the jar. For a moment he hesitated, his hand hanging in the air over Dandelion’s injuries. Then he swallowed and pressed down.

“Ah!” the sob that came out of Dandelion’s mouth was quiet, but to Geralt, it may have well have been a scream, rattling around in his head as he continued to treat Dandelion’s wounds.

After a moment, the Witcher became aware that he was babbling, saying, “I’m so sorry, Dandelion, this should never have happened. I made a careless mistake. I was still on those potions- I- oh Dandelion, what have I done?”

When he finished, once he’d run out of salve from coating it liberally into Dandelion’s thighs and ass, he set it aside and forced himself to look at Dandelion’s face again.

The poet only blinked at him, still tired.

“You need to rest,” Geralt whispered.

A small nod. Then, “Geralt?”

“Yes Dandelion?”

“I- I’m terribly sorry about the Leshen.”

Something in Geralt’s chest twisted uncomfortably. “Oh Dandelion,” he whispered, pulling the bard to his chest and burying his nose in Dandelion’s hair. “Oh my dear friend, you’ve nothing to apologize for.”

But Dandelion was unconscious again, either asleep or out cold from the pain.


	6. Chapter 6

Dandelion woke near sunrise. “Geralt?”

“Here, Dandelion.” He was crouched in the chair by Dandelion’s bed, where he’d kept a silent vigil over him through the night.

The bard groaned and blinked wearily. “I- Did we fuck?” he asked bluntly. “Usually my arse only hurts this much after a whipping if you fucked me.”

Geralt’s stomach clenched. “No.”

“Huh.”

“Do you not remember-” He wasn’t certain what he would do if Dandelion said no. He wasn’t certain he could tell his friend, in detail, what had happened. Dandelion deserved to know but-

“Oh no, I remember.” The bard buried his face in his arms with a groan. “I was just hoping I’d dreamt it or that you would do me the decency of providing a good lie.”

“I wouldn’t lie to you.”

For a long moment, Dandelion didn’t move. Then he only sighed and shook his head.

Geralt didn’t know what to do, looking away with a knot his in stomach. “Are you hungry?”

“No.”

“Thirsty?”

“No.”

Afraid he was crowding Dandelion, Geralt slid his chair away from the bed, the legs scratching noisily on the floor. They were both silent, Geralt studying his hands to keep from staring at Dandelion.

Then - “Why?” Dandelion’s voice was so quiet he barely heard it, even with his heightened senses, and Geralt looked up.

“I- I tried to get you to stop,” Dandelion pushed himself up slightly, only to fall down with a whimper. It took all of Geralt’s strength not to run to his side. “You shoved me down.”

“Don’t you know?” Geralt asked softly. “I’m a monster, Dandelion.”

“Oh fuck you!” shouted the bard. He rolled onto his side with a pained wince, his hand shaking. “You-” he said, panting as though each word cost him dearly. “You owe me a real explanation Geralt, because the man I saw last night scared me.” Tears welled in his eyes. “You don’t scare me, Geralt.” 

Geralt only looked away. How could he explain it? He didn’t understand it himself. Well, he did understand it, a little, but that didn’t excuse it. Realizing he wasn’t going to get an answer, Dandelion turned away.

What could he say? What could he possibly say that would explain what he’d done, how badly he’d fucked up?

_I thought the potions were out of my system, but they weren’t._

_I thought you had died._

_I can only focus on one thing at a time when I take the potions._

_I saw your corpse._

He shook his head. No. There was no explaining away what he’d done. Dandelion was wrong. He was a monster.

The Witcher stood, his mind made up.

“Here.” The alderman had stopped by while Dandelion had slept, and Geralt passed the bard the coin he’d been giving, placing it carefully on the edge of the bed while still staying as far back as he could.

Dandelion blinked and stared at the bag. “Geralt!”

“This will get you back to Oxenfurt and then some,” Geralt explained, straightening up and stepping away from the bed. “The Alderman says there’s a local man - Mikhal - who leads travelers. That’s more than enough for his fee. Don’t try to bed him until he’s gotten you home safe.”

“Geralt!”

“Take care of yourself, Dandelion. I’ll tell Lambert and Eskel to keep an eye out - Triss Merigold as well - if you’re ever in need of help.”

“What the deuce-”

“I’ll stay out of Oxenfurt, and Novigrad. Tell your cousin he’s permitted to arrest me, if he sees me in Kerack,” promised the Witcher, then he made a break for the door. “I won’t trouble you.”

“No! No! Geralt!” Dandelion fell out of the bed, cursing in pain, ending up in a heap on the floor, tangled in blankets. “Oh shit! Geralt come back here!” He swiped for Geralt’s ankle, barely missing him.

“You need to rest,” Geralt said, stepping back so that Dandelion couldn’t grab him. His hands itched to tuck the bard back into bed, but with the mood Dandelion was it, he supposed the bard would cling to him and refuse to let him go.

It seemed it hadn’t quite sunk into his head that Geralt had tortured him. That Geralt was the cause of his problems. That Geralt couldn’t be trusted with him.

“I will rest, quite gladly Geralt, when you come back and put me in bed.” He was shaking and panting, tears dripping down his cheeks. The room reeked of pain.

“Dandelion,” he said gently, crouching down so that he could meet his eyes. “I’ve done this to you, and I can’t undo it, but what I can do-”

“Geralt,” snapped Dandelion, his sides heaving. “Geralt, I swear to all the gods that if you don’t come back here I’ll start screaming and cause a scene that will make last year’s Beltane look like a gods-damned tea party.”

Given the scene Dandelion had drunkenly caused at that Beltane, Geralt was inclined to obey. Then he watched as the bard winced and rubbed his ass. A fresh wave of guilt overtook him and he shook his head.

Dandelion took advantage of his hesitation to fling himself forward and grab Geralt, knotting his hands in the Witcher’s shirt. “You fucking idiot,” Dandelion hissed through gritted teeth. “Soft hearted, moron! Oh you- Geralt, put me back in bed. Now!”

He couldn’t say no to that, and carried the exhausted poet back to bed, laying him down on his stomach. As he’d expected, Dandelion clung to his wrist. “If you leave now, Geralt, I’ll follow you,” he threatened. “I will and you know it. To the Edge of the World, if I must or to Kaer Morhen itself.”

“You don’t know where Kaer Morhen is.”

“Then I’ll perish trying to find it, and how would you feel then?”

Geralt let out a sigh and closed his eyes. “I hurt you,” he whispered. “I terrified you, Dandelion, and that’s unacceptable.” 

“You did,” whispered Dandelion. “But you’ll frighten me even more if you leave, because then I won’t ever know what happened.”

Geralt stood, breaking Dandelion’s grip. “You need medication for the pain,” he said numbly. “I used everything I had last night.”

“Geralt- don’t leave.”

“I’ll come back, Dandelion, once I’ve found an herbalist. It should only take a few minutes.”

But the poet didn’t believe him. Cornflower blue eyes glistened with tears and he looked as though he was about to jump out of bed again.

“I’ll be back,” Geralt said stiffly. “I- I swear, Dandelion.” He grit his teeth and, before he could talk sense into himself, pulled off his medallion and offered it to the bard. Then he left, leaving Dandelion clutching the wolf medallion in surprise.


	7. Chapter 7

He’d never been afraid of Geralt before.

Why should he be? The Witcher was - despite all outwardly appearances - kind and gentle hearted. He laughed, he mourned, he fretted - all normal, human emotions. At times, Dandelion sometimes started to forget that his companion wasn’t human at all.

The previous night had been an uncomfortable reminder.

Dandelion’s grip tightened on Geralt’s medallion.

He’d wanted to convince himself that it was all a terrible dream, but, even in his worst nightmares he wasn’t sure he could have conjured up such a thing.

But try as he might, he couldn’t bring himself to rationalize it. Geralt wasn’t cruel, he wouldn’t-

_His eyes._

Dandelion lurched up, pain shooting through his ass, and he cried out, “His potions!” Then he hissed and fell back into the bed with a moan, regretting the movement.

Geralt’s eyes had been stained black, something Dandelion had simply learned to ignore. How was black any different from yellow? Both were strange on a human, and Geralt was uncomfortable if people brought them up. So Dandelion kept his mouth shut rather than say anything about it.

So he told himself that explained it, Geralt wasn’t turning evil, he’d just been drugged. It made it easier for him to process what had happened, because then Geralt wasn’t a monster, he was just as much a victim as Dandelion (if slightly daft for having tried to leave the bard).

Speaking of which, he was late.

Dandelion glanced at the door, biting his lip nervously. Surely Geralt would come back? He’d promised, after all, and Geralt always kept his promises. He ran his thumb over the medallion in his hand.

“He’ll come back for you,” he muttered. He’d never seen Geralt without it. Even in bed or while taking a bath, Geralt wore the medallion.

So he wouldn’t leave it. Not for anything.

He’d nearly settled himself down, convinced himself that it was fine, that it was all going to pass, that he and Geralt would simply move on and pretend it hadn’t happened. After all, Geralt hadn’t meant to do it.

He could forgive.

He could forget.

Then the door opened and Geralt stepped through. Dandelion couldn’t help the spike of panic that went through him, hearing Geralt’s heavy footsteps on the ground. His grip tightened on Geralt’s medallion, becoming painful as the metal dug into his fingers.

**Author's Note:**

> Feel free to [Follow me on Tumblr](https://sunflowersupremes.tumblr.com/). I accept prompts, fangirling, and accusations of character abuse.


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